Page 20 of Ruined By the Mafia Kings
I made a small sound of protest at the loss of contact, my body instinctively trying to follow Mr. Enigma’s retreating touch even as I remained on Mr. Iceflare’s lap. The movement caused me to rock against the hardness beneath me, drawing a sharp inhale from the alpha.
“Careful, little omega,” he warned, his hands moving to my hips to still me. “Don’t start what we won’t finish.” His thumb traced my lower lip in a gesture that was both possessive and oddly tender. “That should take the edge off for a while,” he said, the glint in his eyes telling me he knew exactly how temporary the relief would be.
I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Right. Like offering a starving man a single potato chip. Delicious, but ultimately just a reminder of how hungry you still are.” I shifted away from his touch, my pride finally making a belated appearance. “Don’t expect a thank-you card for your half-assed assistance.”
His lips curved into a knowing smile. “Not looking for gratitude, little mouse. Just compliance. Just enough to keep you coming back for more, but never enough to satisfy. A perfect arrangement, wouldn’t you say?”
“Perfect for you, maybe,” I said, tugging my robe closed with fingers that still trembled from the aftereffects of pleasure. “Manipulative bastards.”
“Such harsh words for men who just helped you,” Mr. Enigma chided with mock hurt. He returned to his bed, stretching like a satisfied cat as he settled against the pillows.
Mr. Iceflare exchanged a glance with his companions, some unspoken communication passing between them. Mr. Enigma’s lips curved in a knowing smile, while Mr. Storm’s expression remained unreadable, though his scent had thickened with desire he made no attempt to hide.
“Let’s call it an investment,” Mr. Iceflare said finally, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture surprisingly intimate. “In a game that’s just beginning.”
“A game,” I repeated, my post-orgasmic clarity already fading as heat began to build again in my core. “Still playing cat and mouse. Only now the little mouse has wandered right into the cats’ territory.” I let out a humorless laugh. “And we all know how that usually ends.”
“Smart mouse,” Mr. Enigma commented from his bed, his green eyes gleaming with something that might have been approval as he adjusted his position, making no attempt to hide the effect I’d had on him.
“But mice get eaten in the end,” I pointed out, trying to ignore the way my body already craved more despite the temporary relief. “Or squished. Or trapped in those humane catch-and-release things that are actually just plastic coffins if you forget to check them.”
Mr. Storm’s gaze locked with mine, carrying an undertone that sent shivers down my spine. “Change the rules,” he said quietly, the simple phrase somehow more ominous than a longer explanation.
I stood on shaky legs, pulling my robe tighter around me, though the damage was done. All three had seen everything, had watched me come apart under their combined touch. “And how exactly does a mouse change the rules when playing with three predators? Unionize?”
Mr. Iceflare’s smile was all teeth, but there was something else there too, a heat that had nothing to do with calculation or strategy. “That, little mouse, is what we’re all waiting to find out.”
I backed toward the door, suddenly needing space to think. The brief relief had cleared my head somewhat, but I could already feel my heat rebuilding, the temporary reprieve fading. The memory of their touches, of their hungry gazes, haunted every step I took.
“Remember our arrangement,” Mr. Iceflare called as I reached the door. “Our secret stays between us, or next time, there will be no relief. Only more promises of what awaits you when we’re free.”
“Got it,” I replied, trying for nonchalance despite my trembling legs. “My lips are sealed. Unlike other parts of me, apparently.”
I slipped back into my quarters, leaning against the door until my knees gave out and I slid down to the floor. My body still tingled from their touch, the phantom sensation of Mr. Iceflare’s fingers inside me, of Mr. Enigma’s hands on my skin, of Mr. Storm’s intense gaze tracking every reaction. My inner muscles continued to clench around nothing, desperate for the fullness that only an alpha’s knot could provide.
“What the actual fuck just happened?” I whispered to the empty room. “Did I just get felt up by two mafia bosses while the third watched? Is this my life now?”
These men were dangerous, not just because they were mafia alphas with the means and motivation to hurt me, but because they were clever. Strategic. Playing a game I didn’t fully understand, with rules that seemed to shift with each encounter.
And worst of all, despite everything, my body craved more. Not just relief from my heat, but more of their touch. More of that moment when their eyes had darkened with something beyond calculation or threat, something that had looked almost like genuine desire.
“You’re so screwed, Ty,” I whispered to myself, wrapping my arms around my knees as another wave of heat began to build. “And not even in the way you need to be.”
The temporary relief was already fading, the emptiness returning with a vengeance. In a few hours, I’d be back where I started—desperate, aching, caught between De Luca’s threats and the alphas’ dangerous game.
And the worst part? Part of me was already looking forward to the next round. Already wondering what it would feel like to have Mr. Enigma’s fingers inside me instead of Mr. Iceflare’s. Already curious about whether Mr. Storm’s quiet intensity would translate to something equally controlled and devastating in a more intimate context.
“Stop it,” I hissed at myself, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. “They’re not hot alpha boyfriends; they’re mafia bosses who’ve threatened to hunt you down and make you suffer. Just because they have magic hands doesn’t change that.”
I pressed my thighs together, mortified by the direction of my thoughts. These men had threatened me. Had promised to hunt me down. Had made it clear that whatever temporary truce we’d established was just that, temporary.
And yet my treacherous body responded to the memory of them with renewed need, with a hollow ache that the brief orgasm had only temporarily soothed. My omega instincts recognized them as prime alphas, as potential mates who could satisfy my heat completely if they chose to.
“It’s just biology,” I told myself firmly, pushing myself up from the floor on shaky legs. “Just chemicals and hormones and evolutionary bullshit. It doesn’t mean anything. Like being hungry and finding a cheeseburger attractive doesn’t mean you want to marry it.”
But as I made my way to the shower to wash away the evidence of what had just happened, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just stepped into something far more complex than a simple bargain for temporary relief.
The water sluiced over my overheated skin but did nothing to wash away the memory of their touch, of the weight of three alpha gazes on my naked body, of the way they’d reacted to my scent as if it were something extraordinary.
